


Hello, World.

by ConnorTriesToWrite



Category: Hello Charlotte (Video Games), Original Work
Genre: Delusions, Diary/Journal, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26573728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConnorTriesToWrite/pseuds/ConnorTriesToWrite
Summary: Vincent considered, for a moment, that writing an online diary may help him sort himself out.After that moment, he decided to follow that thought to the keyboard.After that, of course, he started typing.
Kudos: 5





	1. The moon is red tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> A Vincent-inspired psuedo-diary, partially fiction and partially real experiences.  
> Please keep in mind source-level delusions and such will be explored or mentioned.

_Hello, World._

The moon is red tonight, it’s a crescent moon. I wouldn’t be surprised if it started to drip, it looks as though someone has pierced the sky and it’s preparing to well up and bleed. I wish I could say I appreciated the beauty of it, but it’s just the moon, It’s always been the moon. Do I love this rock in the sky any more than I love the rock that we live on? No, I don’t think I can.

Do I love the Earth? A little bit, it’s nice. Keeps us all from being nonexistent, which is rather kind of it to do. I keep changing the format as I write this, it’s hard to find a font I enjoy. Is it really still ‘writing’ if I’m typing this? I wonder if there was a different name when we had to etch our words into stone. I’ve never written my feelings as I felt them, this is.. New to me? Np, that’s a lie, I’ve written about panic attacks in the midst of them happening. It feels true, raw. It’s unhealthy if you do that instead of actually help yourself, but it just is how it is. I can not stop you, and you can not stop me because it has already happened, and you do not know where I am.

Do you think fiction truly has no impact on reality? We only write what we know, what we want to know, or what we pretend to know but really don’t give a shit about. Either way, you interacted with the writing for long enough for it to affect you. It’s real, on some level, inside of you. I think fiction shapes my world, but that’s because I live with delusions, which are fiction, that actively impact my life. I say they’re fiction because I know they are not true, but they feel real. I really do feel as if the world begins and ends with my birth and my death. My memories shape reality, you know? It just is what it is, and that’s all it will be. Magic is real, though. That is not fiction. At least, I’m very hopeful that it isn’t fiction. It feels real, to me and to others? 

I miss when I went through the graveyard a few months ago. I miss graveyards. I hope they stay empty for as long as possible, though. I sat down by a tree, near a few graves. I don’t remember the dates, though I don’t think any were recent. I sang, talked, pet a cat. It was peaceful, but being alone still let my mind fill with delusions and worries. That’s the weird thing, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter how happy I am when I am alone, the loneliness still eats me up. I sink into it, surrounded by the ink of my brain and the air around me. It just happens, and I can not stop it, but I can go without a fight to make things a bit easier.

I wish I was allowed to have a cat here. I miss cats, you know? Sure, other people near me have them and I can visit, but it’s not the same. The connection isn’t.. ours. It’s theirs.

I want to eat, I think. Have a nice night.

_-V_


	2. Love, Crullers, and Swings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for descriptions of self harm.

_Hello, World._

I don’t feel loved.

Where I’m at, right now, I don’t feel love here. I feel… afraid. To leave my room. Not all the time, of course, because I need breakfast and dinner. But It feels wrong, to do those things when someone can see me. Because that person can choose to see me however they wish. I can’t control their thoughts, I can not make them love me. But we live together, that’s not something I can change. It’d cost too much to leave, does that make sense? And It would not be fair, not at all.

They want to watch a movie, so I’ll be back in a while. Ending this here would be a waste of a page, so I’ll just be back later. Okay?

**\----**

It’s the next day, sorry. We didn’t watch the movie. And that’s okay, because I got to sit out there without feeling like a burden anyways. At least for a bit, before I asked about food, and was told I should probably go to bed without dinner since I had eaten earlier. So I did, I went to sleep, and Now I am awake after a 2 hour shower. I brought something to the shower with me. I left the shower with some marks, but that’s okay. I’m still worthy of food, so I will get dressed, and then I will eat. I’ll have a few of the small glazed crullers that are sat on the counter in the kitchen. It’s a small plastic container, I bought them. I still feel like I am stealing them from the other’s in this house, though.

My head hurts.

I got the crullers, the top of my mouth hurts. Am I allergic to something in them or is it the dehydration? I wish there wasn’t black mold in the water pipes, I’d maybe drink more water. Maybe. My arms hurts against the sleeves, I didn’t bandage it. I don’t want to waste medical supplies on something that stopped bleeding by the time I got out of the shower. I don’t want to waste them on me. Am I getting worse again? I thought I was doing better, in a new place with new people. I think it might be worse though. I wish I could reshape the world to feel more like home. I don’t want to be a god.

I got some cards, they were nice. They’re from a show, or a game, the box was why I got them. It’s metal, indented in some parts, I am going to use it later. Once I’m on HRT, I’d like to store the supplies in here. I don’t know if they will fit though, I don’t know what I’ll be getting. I’m too afraid to make the call, because I’m scared of my phone. I’m scared of the people inside of it. I’m scared.

I think my fears may be getting worse again, too. Sometimes I’m too afraid to open the blinds in my room, afraid to see what lies outside. But there’s nothing there. Nothing to worry about, at least. It’s nice outside, should I go out there? Face my fears today, again? I miss the swings at the park. The rocking motions keep me alive. I like to imagine that I’m in the middle of a forest, surrounded by flowers and fae, and that I’m a girl from one of those centuries-old paintings with nothing but a white dress and flowers encompassing me, sitting on a vine swing and able to speak without fear. Maybe if I die, that’s where I’ll be reborn. Right in that moment, at the top of the swing, where I get to fall backwards and my hair goes past my face, and I’ll be given new life as I swing forward again, up high enough to see the sun.

I’ll live though, I.. I want to make that swing for myself, and I don’t want to swing alone. I’ll make two, maybe a few, so I can invite the people I cherish. I think I can cling onto that, I think I can hold onto the hope for fearless love. Maybe?

_-V_


	3. Rain and Bunk Beds

_Hello, World._   


It’s been A day since I last wrote here, I’m sorry for that. I met someone yesterday, we walked in the rain for an hour. It was… nice, I think. It felt different. My jacket has black marks on it now, I don’t know where they came from. I lent it to him since he got cold while we were sitting outside of a coffee shop. I went inside and removed my bandages, because they were itchy and I wasn’t bleeding. I didn’t need them anymore. 

I wish we could have stayed in the rain, forever? Or at least for a bit longer. I had to go back to where I live though. We walked back, he had a migraine, though he never told me to stop talking. He said I wasn’t nearly as loud as the cars and the geese.

I got home, and forgot to ever do this journal. It’s a new day now though, and here I am again. I had nightmares again. I had them yesterday, too. Yesterday’s were worse, I won’t go into details but I would like to recount it, if that’s alright.

As it goes in every good dream, I had no clothes. I was running from someone, scared. I knew if they found me, they’d either kill me or take me back to wherever I had been running from. I ran through a house filled with garbage and collections of trinkets, boxes and posters and abandoned cups. I made it to a room with a bunk bed, it had three beds. It was littered with clutter and guck, each bed had a mattress, but no blankets. I climbed up to the top bunk and tried to cover myself in the clutter to hide. Of course, since it was a nightmare, they found me. They dug through the trash on top of me and dragged me down, and dragged me back to a hell I wish I couldn’t remember. I woke up shaking, spent an hour trying to recover, then had a long, painful shower. I ended up with more marks than I meant to, I just… wanted to drain some of the night’s terrors out of me.

I had another nightmare today, though it was more tolerable than yesterday’s. I had another shower today, though it was less painful than yesterday’s. Somehow it burns more though, like a hundred paper cuts. This is likely due to it being a flurry of smaller indentions, since this arm is more sensitive. It’s not that I wanted to do this today, actually. I just needed to remind myself not to take my jacket off in the rain.

It’s windy today, and it feels like the rain will fall again. I hope it does, but that would ruin my hopes to go to the park. These hopes are empty, of course, because I’m too afraid to leave the building today. Maybe tomorrow?

I feel that my thoughts may be more scattered, or just shorter than usual. I can’t find the words I need to properly present the best _me_ that I can. Is that sad? That I feel I must be performative even to a diary? I’m afraid to be truly honest, open. That must be the curse of being aware of one’s self, being able to judge myself as an outsider with the bonus of my insider insecurities and anxieties. I think I’m going to take a break here.

_-V_


End file.
